


the game we play

by serein (koshitsu_kamira)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Barebacking, Casual Sex, Developing Relationship, Implied Relationships, M/M, Overstimulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 17:50:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10644966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koshitsu_kamira/pseuds/serein
Summary: For Taeil, Youngho is willing to throw pride and composure out the window.





	the game we play

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Playboy by EXO.

The club lights were blinding, glowing neon green, violet and fluorescent blue, oscillating to the wild rhythm of the music that Youngho felt vibrating through his entire ribcage, the stale air he inhaled meanwhile dodging inebriated patrons, fending off unruly hands, arms which beckoned him to join the party, get lost in the alcohol fueled haze, worries, qualms abandoned. Plastering on a genial smile, he waved away the offers, ignored the suggestive glances, the wicked grins, then walked down the corridor hidden behind the DJ booth, where a fellow artist, Taeyong was currently working his magic, head bobbing along to the frenetic beat, jumping excitedly as the crowd cheered, demanded yet another track, drunken screams punctuating the groove. Moving quick for his shift was approaching, Youngho finally entered the lounge room dedicated to the staff, and upon stepping inside he spotted a mess of electric blue colored hair spilling over the sofa armrest, followed by slender legs propped on the back cushions, leather snug around full thighs - clearing his throat delicately so he wouldn’t startle the other person, quietly he greeted, “Good evening, Taeil.”

Taeyong’s friend looked up from the phone screen a minute later, gaze lazy, almost wry, resting on the younger’s face momentarily, before he murmured a blasé “hey,” subsequently dismissing Youngho in an effortless manner, focus redirected to the incoming messages, notification having gone off rapid fire; huffing a bit, frustrated, the taller boy plopped down on the loveseat across the sitting area. Eyes sweeping forth the slim figure propped against the couch, stare lingering on the muscle definition Taeil’s sheer t-shirt showcased, Youngho sighed, annoyance flaring while he considered the possible causes of the cold shoulder behaviour he had been subjected to during the past weeks; initially he and the elder hit it off quite well, even dabbled playfully, the chemistry between them undeniable. Taeil was a tad eccentric, but sweet-natured once Youngho had gotten used to his peculiar brand of humour, the whimsical comments nobody seemed to understand except for Taeyong, who usually clinged to the other, timidly avoiding the attention people granted him unless he was on stage - “ _ he’s just shy _ ,” explained the older boy fondly, slightly exasperated, tone otherwise warm. “ _ I see _ ,” Youngho had replied compulsorily, distracted, all thoughts fixated on the exact curve of Taeil’s bottom lip, attraction fizzing, bubbling in his veins, perfectly aware that he was obvious, near transparent since subtlety wasn’t among his fortes anyway; personally speaking, he believed the upright streak was a charming quality - luckily enough his former partners had never found the quirk particularly offensive or disagreeable. Similarly, Taeil hadn’t given any indication which conveyed his advances were objectionable, despite acting reserved, demure; Youngho would catch the elder’s coy stare tracing his forearms, notice wandering fingers slipping underneath his shirt, drawing nonsensical patterns right above the waistband of his boxer briefs, sometimes fiddling with the elastic material, smirk devious. Completely hooked, the younger had started to anticipate the next installment of their lighthearted back and forth games, awaited the steps, actions the other boy would take, envisioned, flirted with the scenarios concluding the sweet pursuit, crowning the build-up, only he might have miscalculated badly, seeing how Taeil put an abrupt stop to the chase, stating “ _ I don’t fuck little boys _ .” Speechless, Youngho had watched the elder vanish into the undulating mass, gait resolute, confident, leaving him bereft of answers; he remembered thinking, hoping they would be alright, disregarding the unease having settled in his lungs, stomach; exhale slow, he swallowed dry, bitter cigarette smoke, champagne fumes having stuck on his palate, tasting sour, rancid.

Admittedly, Youngho enjoyed philandering immensely, loved the variety, the excitement a stranger could bring him, the violent thrill of the unknown as he allowed men and women roam his body, touch intimate, greedy like they wanted to leave a lasting mark, a sign proclaiming they had been there, although the intent always disappeared when the sun rose, reality overshadowing all fantasies they had possessed. His bedmates generally broke away clean, no assistance required while they gathered articles of clothing, the discarded wallet, purse, keeping silent on their feet, movements efficient, hurried at times, their farewell airy, dissolving in the morning fog along with the promises they had made previously, intoxicated by the flawless illusion born from drunken whispers, desperation. Albeit his chosen lifestyle was controversial at best, Youngho preferred dealing with the soreness in his limbs, the burn of hot water hitting the raw scratches, the darkening bites, rather than mending hearts fragmented or wiping off despondent tears - he had deliberately picked the easy way out, acknowledging the obvious drawbacks, the hindrances he might experience. Notwithstanding his somewhat careless mentality, Youngho hadn’t ever sought to mask himself, sugarcoat the questionable habits, tendencies he acquired, nor attempted forcing the unusual practices on people who simply rejected the idea; he would perhaps feel a tinge of regret, wistfulness infiltrating his bloodstream after sudden dismissals, the sense fleeting, ephemeral.

Against the expectations, his prior experiences, Taeil’s refusal persisted, stinged akin to fresh papercuts, invisible around his fingertips, the ache dull, subdued but insistent, spiking randomly, tiny pinpricks reminding him of the disappointment painting the older boy’s expression dusky blue, the hue fathomless, bleeding into the shadows the strobe lights casted. Part of Youngho was still baffled, entrenched in confusion since they agreed upon nothing explicit or tacit either, which could warrant such harsh words, rebuff - he had naturally assumed the other accepted the rules directing their casual engagement, tuning out the cautionary voices echoing low within his ears whenever he uttered sentences, phrases sounding very similar to promises he wouldn’t actually mean. The lines were blurred regardless his original intentions, yet he was reluctant to quit cold, put and end to what they shared: the conversations backstage, Taeil’s palm resting on his bare knee, twinkling laughter over fancy, polychrome cocktails, the hint of peppermint Youngho breathed in as the elder was pushed into his chest, mouth hovering briefly above his awaiting lips. The kisses were usually delivered through another person though, a stranger having brushed past him, then laid on bed sheets carrying the vestiges of yesterday, the faint musk young bodies had left behind, a vague, nondescript scent that could have belonged to any passerby stuck between rush hour commuters, harried university students, office clerks sporting dark circles even heavy duty concealer wouldn’t hide.

“The stage is yours,” declared Taeyong, bursting inside the lounge, a tad breathless, the leftover adrenaline making his voice tremble, “the crowd is pretty nice today,” he added, combing his fingers through sweat matted locks, before slumping against the counter and downing an entire can of energy drink, “responsive without the hysterics,” working out the kinks from his neck, suddenly he paused, frowning, “Have you seen Taeil?”

“He’s left a while ago,” Youngho responded, winding the headphone cord around his wrist and patting his jeans pocket to ensure had hadn’t forgotten the flash drive, “I thought he joined you in the booth,” he muttered absently, glancing at Taeyong, inquiring - the elder would often frequent the brightly lit platform, taking pictures and videos of the performances, sometimes just squeezing his best friend close, providing due support.

Appearing perplexed, the other boy scrutinized Youngho’s face thoughtfully, “he ditched me after a couple tracks, claiming he shouldn’t leave a hot date waiting,” chuckle sheepish, Taeyong continued, “I thought...” freezing, realization dawning on, he trailed off, “never mind,” smiling awkwardly, he crushed the aluminium container, the racket startling the younger out of his stupor, “Have fun!”

Astounded, the questions caught within his throat, Youngho merely watched Taeyong flee the room, steps hurried, nape burning red, the door slamming shut in his wake; sighing deep, he walked outside, trying to clear his thoughts, make sense of the turmoil, the curious agitation muddling his judgement - rationally speaking, he should have felt relieved upon hearing the news. Taeil branching out essentially meant the frigid atmosphere which characterized their interactions would diminish, ease as the elder became preoccupied with a new love interest and the bittersweet aftertaste of memories related to Youngho had faded away, only a second thought occurring him at odd moments, the area where the consciousness floated past midnight. Youngho had witnessed the process on several occasions, knew the mechanics of forgiveness bordering oblivion, saw once affectionate gazes become distant, cool, recognition there an indistinct hue coloring the irises pale, like fine dust coating a reflective surface that collected opaque, impervious layers a simple exhale wouldn’t clean, couldn’t erase the stains. Normally, leaving without a trace, evaporating from someone’s life was considered ideal since Youngho could simply pick another path, a new adventure for every door slamming shut, each chapter coming to an end; Taeil, in the scheme of things, was an anomaly unexplainable, albeit one he should have expected based on the off chance, sheer probabilities. Taeil represented a path he simultaneously anticipated and feared, a deviation in the routine he actually wasn’t averse to follow: indeed, Youngho didn’t dread commitment, except avoidance came naturally, almost instinctively, and he couldn’t deny what an easy choice exiting uncomfortable situations was compared to sticking around, awaiting whether the proverbial shoe would drop.

Climbing the steps towards the podium, he let the energy of the frenetic crowd overwhelm his senses, crush the worries, inhibitions which had no room in the DJ booth, then gave free rein to the music, the powerful beat leading his movements across the console, the subtle actions translating to thousand ripples on the dance floor while the partygoers matched the rhythm. Originally, Youngho was attracted to the profession because of the associated fame and money, however, the main reason he eventually stayed was the implicit power, the sway he hold over people Monday through Saturday nights, potent enough to counterbalance the instability underlying his daily conduct, hopping beds, breaking old friendships, making new acquaintances. Eyes scanning the masses, he caught a glimpse of Taeil dancing at the VIP section, thin shirt having become transparent with sweat, aquamarine tresses distinct even beneath the dingy lighting, bouncing along the older boy’s enthusiastic motions before a tall, broad-shouldered man tugged him aside, the pair vanishing into the background shadows, and Youngho quickly looked away. The last mix tapered off uneasily, creating a tense second that was soon punctuated by eager shouts, frantic hoots, shattering the strange haze where he was momentarily suspended, a butterfly captured within amber; fingers moving on autopilot, Youngho attempted downplaying the blunder as if the break served the same goal a dramatic pause would during a play.

The remainder of his schedule elapsed in a blur, the events intermingling, merging into a single, iridescent stream he usually would have enjoyed, but tonight disquiet weighed upon his shoulders, anchoring him firmly to the ground; legs heavy, leaden, Youngho trudged down the stage, fake smile plastered on his face, stopping only so people could snap a picture or give a high five. Unlike other days, he didn’t visit the bar in search of a disposable lay, choosing to retire backstage instead, the cooler temperature behind the scenes pleasant against his skin, semi-darkness offering a much-welcomed cover; gait relaxed, mind delightfully blank, he took a left turn, pushing the lavatory door open, the momentum halting afterwards, causing the hinges creak obnoxiously. The couple inside threw a tired glance at Youngho, not exactly concerned about his identity, shortly resuming the clean up they obviously required, seeing the disheveled state of their outfit, complexion - the musky smell permeating the small room and the pair’s weary behaviour were straightforward indicators regarding what might have transpired previously. Looking in the mirror, Youngho noticed the other man staring despite the dim neon lights quivering above, expression inscrutable; “I’m bringing you home,” he said, recognition punching him in the guts, and shook the water off his hands, lips a thin line, whereas Taeil remained apathetic, still facing the younger’s reflection, perhaps seeking a clue of what he wanted. “Alright,” Taeil replied, voice nonchalant, then called out to his companion, “thanks, I had fun;” the boy leaning on the heater laughed, bowing playfully, “call me whenever, hot stuff,” he waved a phone in the air, disregarding Youngho’s presence, who gripped the other’s fragile wrist, beginning to tow him outside, barely containing the outrage smoldering beneath his calm exterior.

Strangely complacent, Taeil followed his lead through the corridor, staying put when Youngho grabbed his belongings and herded the elder to the cab he called every night - driving under influence wasn’t a habit he wished acquiring, although he might possess less inhibitions than regular people which didn’t necessarily equal negligence or irresponsibility. Seated in the back, the older man swiftly fell asleep, his forehead resting on the window swaying gently to the passage until Youngho maneuvered his neck into a more comfortable position, Taeil’s face cradled within the nook of his arm and shoulder, where he napped without disruption, stirring once they left the car to walk the brief distance between places.

The younger’s flat was mostly tidy, notwithstanding the general clutter having accumulated in the hidden corners or the unwashed plates, utensils stacked on the kitchen counter, not that Taeil appeared interested whether the carpet needed a thorough vacuuming since he was hardly awake anyway, crossing the foyer and the living room with trembling knees, hands clutching onto Youngho’s elbow. He didn’t wait for an explicit permission either to collapse within the sheets as they reached the bedroom, nor did he stir while Youngho changed his clothes, dragging a loose t-shirt onto his body, peeling the leather pants off his legs, and wiped the perspiration from his nape, temples; by the time the other boy had gotten out of the shower, Taeil was snoring, spread eagle atop the mattress. Carefully rolling the elder against the wall, Youngho heaved a sigh, observing the scene for a while before reclining himself, draping the fluffy comforter over their prone forms - his last thought was how ironic, backward the whole situation had become: having another person in close proximity beyond the typical spectrum of activities was profoundly unfamiliar, seemed bafflingly domestic somehow. The rare instants Youngho imagined coming home to a steady partner was filled with such idealistic scenarios, impressions at least, sweet images he hadn’t predicted would turn into an albeit stilted, but nevertheless a reality this soon, which could make sense of the exhilaration, hopeful turmoil he experienced, sparkling, trickling underneath the surface level, keeping him alert.

Youngho didn’t recall when he had drifted off, the night slipping through his grasp of consciousness, lost amidst the arbitrary dream sequences Taeil ultimately interrupted, the dissonant clatter he caused rousing the younger in time to see the other boy struggling with his leather pants, the morning sunlight emphasizing his slight frame, drawing a silvery halo around his head. Regardless the audience, Taeil retained his silence even as Youngho calmly sat up, extended a firm arm, then pulled him back to the bed so he wouldn’t have another choice than straddling the young man’s lap, who laid quiescent under his weight, features peaceful, lips warm and pliant upon contact, the groan he swallowed viscous, akin to honey dripping down his throat. Youngho allowed the other man to pin his wrists high above the pillows, inhaling sharply at the electric sensation of Taeil’s teeth on his jawline, neck, sinking into the flesh enough to hurt a little, inducing breathy whines, the younger shifting restless beneath the older boy’s attention, heated touches, his spine arching upwards to offer a better angle for his partner. Taeil hummed indulgently, dipping below the other’s collarbones and proceeded to suck on his nipples, tongue lapping at the pink buds, chuckle satisfied while Youngho squirmed helplessly, abdominal muscles tensing after every playful lick, heated exhale brushing past his sensitized nerve endings; fingers curling over thin air, he began muttering  _ please _ , voice breaking.

Taeil drew away, releasing the younger boy’s arms to rummage in the bedside drawer, fishing out a slim bottle that he flicked open, squeezing the clear liquid in his palm before he leaned forward, tucked the comforter roughly aside, revealing Youngho’s bedraggled shape, his soft belly constricting whereas the other’s fingertips traced a question mark against the elastic band of his underwear. “Go ahead,” Youngho whispered, gnawing on his bottom lip, sigh harsh as Taeil removed his boxers, knuckles brushing along the ridge of his erection, etching a white-hot trail down his thighs, calves, ankles, eliciting a violent shiver; crawling between the younger’s knees, the other man teased his puckered entrance with a slick finger, a single tip dipping inside at random intervals. Youngho gasped, hips bucking forth without rhythm, legs spreading wider to accommodate Taeil’s shoulders - relinquishing the control wouldn’t have occurred him within different circumstances since the risk of abuse was particularly great: one-night stands didn’t care whether the pleasure was mutual, plowing on mindless like a reckless driver in a hit-and-run plight, collateral damage be damned. Submitting to Taeil however didn’t worry Youngho, granted their relationship wasn’t among the most harmonious; still, from their interactions he had intuitively understood the older boy would never inflict permanent damage, even if their shared bond soured, turned unsalvageable, hence when the other inserted a slim digit, feeling past the rim, he relaxed, moaning in encouragement.

“I won’t break,” he blurted, after Taeil introduced the third finger, languidly scissoring them apart, meticulously stretching Youngho’s walls, rubbing the area just shy of his prostate, which sent pinpricks of bliss across his whole body, making his vision grow fuzzy at the edges, tears pooling behind his eyelids, “I promise,” he stuttered, mindlessly humping the elder’s hand. Taeil paused, cheeks flushed, eyes glazed, obtaining desperate whimpers that he kissed quiet, nibbling on the other’s tongue, then simply asked, “how do you want to come?” - overstimulated for the elder didn’t stop massaging his sensitive spot, Youngho hiccupped, nails pressing half moons into the cotton sheets, a shudder wracking through his form, the pressure having intensified. A string puppet of desire, he was unable to utter words, motor skills limited to answering Taeil’s call, reflecting and magnifying the lust binding them together, “I need you,” he rambled, face tilted towards the older boy’s soothing palm, “closer,” Youngho keened, composure thrown out the window, sniffling lightly as the other murmured into his ear, “you don’t have condoms left.”

“I don’t care,” he panted, tugging the elder flat atop his chest, legs wrapped around his waist, “we are both clean, right,” he asserted, foregoing the reply, pecking Taeil’s swollen lips before he could have protested, “now hurry;” his partner chuckled, glance thawing considerably, “you’re so… lovely,” he said, looking surprised, thumbing Youngho’s cheekbones, who preened, the urge to please the other increased tenfold. Fiddling with the baby hairs at the older boy’s nape, he pulled on the silky locks when Taeil finally thrusted forward, his pelvic bone cushioned by the plush back of Youngho’s thighs, the continuous movement propelling his body up the bed, shoulder blades bumping in the wooden headrest, rattling the heavy frame, yet he couldn’t help tuning out everything that wasn’t delicious friction and covetous kisses.

Youngho held onto his ankles while Taeil relentlessly plowed on, almost folding the younger in half, whose voice failed due to the low moans, whimpers that had spilled from his throat, eagerness palpable in the manner he kept shifting, accommodating the other’s wordless requests, clouded stare radiating want, shameless greed contorting his countenance. “I’m close,” Youngho wailed, clenching on Taeil’s hard length, trying to draw him further inside, meanwhile the elder slowed down, the crown of his cock dragging lazily against the boy’s walls, circling the prostate, driving his lover to the near edge, holding him by the precipice for excruciating seconds until pleasure washed over the male, his limbs going slack, synapses afire. Youngho’s vision flashed white as Taeil milked him through the orgasm, clever fingers coaxing more sobs, bleary gasps out of the younger man who couldn’t tell left and right apart anymore seeing how the other had quickened the pace, carelessly pistoning into his pliant warmth, chasing his own climax; a few minutes later he came to an abrupt stop, filling his partner deep within.

Exhausted, Taeil slumped heavily on the younger’s torso, head fitted under the other’s jaw, mindless of the sweat covering his skin, the drying perspiration almost gluing them together; sluggish, he yawned widely, jostling the boy in the process - Youngho whined, fidgeting slightly, and instinctively tightened around his lover’s softening erection, causing the semen leak by his entrance. He flushed, although the sensation wasn’t exactly unpleasant: Youngho hadn’t ever let anyone get this intimate with him, allowed them beneath the layers of armor he usually wore; he might have come off brazen, wild, the characteristics perfect accessories for the work persona he slipped in and out, then gradually stayed behind without even noticing the process. People were attracted to his devil-may-care attitude, unconcerned about what was hidden beyond the facade, satisfied with the shallow relationship Youngho offered, so frankly, he hadn’t anticipated a different treatment when Taeil approached him, seemingly looking for a casual fling, despite Taeyong’s meek warnings that his friend only liked toying with fuckboys. They had begun playing the game unaware where the path would lead, if they were to lose or win, the prize initially ambiguous, taking shape as they grew closer and crossed the originally set boundaries, at which point Taeil beat a hasty retreat, way earlier than Youngho could have recognized the line they were toeing, depriving the younger of the chance to make a move. 

Watching Taeil breathe, expression vulnerable, his heart thudding against Youngho’s chest, the mellow sound overpowering the traffic noise from below the window, he gathered the courage, then said, “we need to talk;” the older boy froze, visibly hesitating before his eyelashes fluttered shut, lips parted on a sigh of acceptance - “alright,” he replied, a tremulous smile flitting across his face, echoing the younger’s sentiment.


End file.
